


Entirely a Matter of Chance

by blancwene



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancwene/pseuds/blancwene
Summary: It is an unfortunate truth that though a mother may bask in the triumph of her eldest daughter’s marriage for an interminable amount of time, she eventually regains her senses. And in Mrs. Bennet’s case, the joy of seeing Jane married to a gentleman met at her brother Gardiner’s in town was only too quickly followed by panic at the realisation that she had four daughters still to settle.(Upon his arrival in Meryton, Mr. Bingley is immediately smitten with a different Miss Bennet.)





	Entirely a Matter of Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).



It is an unfortunate truth that though a mother may bask in the triumph of her eldest daughter’s marriage for an interminable amount of time, she eventually regains her senses. And in Mrs. Bennet’s case, the joy of seeing Jane married to a gentleman met at her brother Gardiner’s in town was only too quickly followed by panic at the realisation that she had four daughters still to settle.

“You must call upon the gentleman who has taken Netherfield Park,” she urged her husband. “For he is sure to fall in love with one of our girls, and that would be one less for me to fret over.”

“I suspect,” said Mr. Bennet, “that you would not be so eager to hand our daughters off to an unknown, if it were not also rumoured that he is wealthy. Is it not enough to have Jane living at such remove in London?”

“But my dear—a large fortune—four or five thousand a year—what a catch!”

“I have heard that Netherfield Park’s library is sadly lacking. Perhaps Mary—”

“Oh Mr. Bennet, how you love to tease! You know I was thinking of Lizzy.”

“Well,” conceded Mr. Bennet. “Perhaps I will visit, if I can find the time.”

Though Mr. Bennet feigned indifference and indecision for the next three weeks, his wife felt confident that he would be among the earliest to call; for Elizabeth was his most favored daughter, and if anything was to rouse him from his library, it was the opportunity to put in a good word for his second eldest. The visit was duly paid, though the only description the Bennets could pry out of him was that Mr. Bingley was young and inclined to be neighbourly. Fortunately, their curiosity was soon satisfied, for the young man came promptly a few days later to return Mr. Bennet’s visit. Gawking from the upper window, Kitty and Lydia deemed him remarkably handsome and very well-dressed.

“A good sign,” agreed Mary. “For is it not said that the apparel oft proclaims the man?”

“We should take that advice with some skepticism. You are quoting Polonius, after all,” said Elizabeth.

Mrs. Bennet extended an invitation to dine, and Mr. Bingley wrote back that he must leave for town on the 8th October to collect the rest of his party, he was most sorry to decline such a kind offer, &c. &c. 

Mrs. Bennet was not to be put off; like John Heywood’s proverb, she was quite capable of taking an ell from the mere offer of an inch. She replied promptly, assuring Mr. Bingley that it was simply a small family meal to welcome him to the neighbourhood—able to accommodate him before his departure—urged him to come, to repay the courteousness of his visit. And upon receipt of his cordial acceptance, she proceeded to hound the servants with her demands till Mr. Bennet emerged from his library and complained of the disorder.

The end result turned out to be well worth the chaos. Mr. Bingley praised Mrs. Bennet’s arrangements, declared the meal very fine, and conversed with all the Bennets in turn—though it was clear to everyone at the table that he most wished to speak with Elizabeth. And indeed, his eyes turned to her so often that it surprised no one when he solicited her hand for the first set of dances at the next assembly.

“Such a triumph,” crowed Mrs. Bennet to her husband that night. “Five thousand a year—and only three miles from Longbourn.”

“You forget, my dear, that Netherfield Park has only been let, and a short lease at that. He may well decide to settle elsewhere.”

But Mrs. Bennet was in alt, and soon began to spread a report of Mr. Bingley bringing back a large party from town for the ball.

“The numbers grow daily,” said Charlotte Lucas, during a tête-à-tête with her dear friend Elizabeth. “At last count it was eighteen ladies and a dozen gentleman.”

“Where would he find room for them all?” wondered Elizabeth. “I hope expectations are not raised excessively, for Mr. Bingley told me he was only bringing back enough guests to make up a party of five—his two sisters, his brother-in-law, and a friend.”

“And what did you think of him?”

“I liked him very much. He is very agreeable, and has nice manners.”

“He is also handsome.”

“Of course! For how else would he complete the picture of an ideal man?”

“Do you mean to pursue him?”

“I should need longer than an evening’s acquaintance to set my mind on matrimony.”

“We shall see,” replied Charlotte.

* * *

The night of the ball arrived, and Elizabeth’s intelligence was proven correct when a party merely one-sixth the size of gossip entered the assembly room. Mr. Bingley was smiling and eager to be acquainted with anyone of note; the rest of his party kept to themselves. The ladies were elegant and standoffish; Mr Hurst, his brother-in-law, proved to have little conversation. Mr. Darcy aroused much interest on account of his vast wealth and estate in Derbyshire, but his behaviour quickly marked him as cold and uncommunicative. Everyone’s attention refocused on the new master of Netherfield. 

Mr. Bingley claimed Elizabeth for the first set of dances, and when they were not separated by the figures of the dance, they spoke on innocuous topics: the health of her family, the size of the room, and the number of families in town. He danced next with Miss Lucas, then one of Mrs. Long’s neices, then Miss Maria Lucas, before returning to solicit Elizabeth’s hand again for the fifth set.

“Your friend does not care to dance,” noted Elizabeth as they moved down the line. “He danced the first and second with your sisters, and now seems determined to complete an endless circuit of the room.”

“Darcy?” asked Mr. Bingley. “Oh, think nothing of it. He is reluctant to speak with those he does not know.”

“What else are introductions for? Men must walk, at least, before they dance.” She smiled wryly. “I don’t mean to press, but I fear our numbers are greatly skewed. With such a lack of gentlemen, a few young ladies have had to sit out each set in want of a partner.” She nodded towards the corner, where Charlotte Lucas and another of Mrs. Long’s neices sat conversing quietly.

“I thought—” Mr. Bingley broke off. “Miss Bennet, you’re right! For how can a man claim a lack of acquaintance if he’s not willing to be introduced?”

“As long as you don’t name me the instigator,” she teased. “I should hate to give your friend an instant disgust of me.”

“I’m sure no one could dislike you, Miss Bennet. I swear that Darcy is a capital fellow, just—”

“Withdrawn? Taciturn?” completed Elizabeth.

“Stubborn,” sighed Mr. Bingley. “I will speak with him. I don’t wish any young ladies to be forced to sit out a dance because a perfectly capable gentleman is afraid of introductions to strangers.”

He returned Elizabeth to a seat next to Mary, then headed in the direction of Mr. Darcy. They stood too far away for her to make out any of the conversation, though she could intuit that Mr. Bingley was talking of the dance, and the size of the party. His friend remained unmoved. They turned partially away, Mr. Bingley becoming more agitated, till he threw up his hands in defeat and walked off.

“No luck,” he reported as they passed each other during the next set. “He knows no one, and thus refuses to dance.”

“At least you made the attempt,” she called back reassuringly.

At the end of the night, the Bennets and the Lucases left together, chattering about the success of the ball and of the fascinating new residents at Netherfield Park. Charlotte pulled Elizabeth aside to whisper in her ear.

“Two sets—you were very honoured. What do you think of him now?”

“He is charming,” said Elizabeth. “But I am not overfond of the rest of his party.”

Mr. Bingley, meanwhile, spent the carriage ride back to Netherfield driving the occupants mad by a repetition of the lavish praise they had heard on the journey from London.

“What a pleasant evening, and in such fine company! Is not Miss Bennet the most glorious creature?”

“She laughs too often. But she has fine dark eyes,” Mr. Darcy eventually admitted.

* * *

The ladies of Longbourn promptly paid a visit to Netherfield Park, and Elizabeth was not displeased to find her mother and sisters more well-behaved than usual. Mary was prone to discoursing endlessly on philosophical topics, yet this morning she sat quietly and resisted the urge to prosify. Kitty and Lydia giggled no more than three times during the visit; Mrs. Bennet was sufficiently struck by Mr. Bingley’s elegant sisters that she allowed them to steer the course of the conversation.

She was not as impressed by the behaviour of their hosts. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were deliberately condescending, implying through queries into the number of families and the range of entertainments that Meryton society was abysmally far beneath their accustomed standard. Elizabeth would not have minded the comparison if it had been made in honest observation rather than spite. She knew their country neighborhood was more confined than the bustle and variety of London, but she was shocked to hear it put forth so openly. She wondered why the ladies would willingly exile themselves to a temporary country existence, and soon received the answer from Miss Bingley.

“Life in town has become remarkably dull of late, with most of our friends travelling to their estates for the winter. When Charles took Netherfield, he asked me to keep house for him, and I deemed it a pleasant diversion for the time being. But of course, we are most comfortable in London.”

“I am sure that the Meryton families will find your party a welcome addition to our social schedule, however long you decide to stay,” Elizabeth responded politely.

The Bennets saw little of the gentlemen until they were prepared to leave. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst seemed to believe a mere nod of acknowledgement would suffice, but Mr. Bingley sat with them a few moments. He spoke highly of the assembly ball and the families he had met, and talked with pleasure of the upcoming entertainments. 

Kitty and Lydia ignored the others and conferred privately, until Lydia finally spoke up. “Mr. Bingley, do say you will throw a ball here! You have the space for it, certainly!”

He promised to hold a ball at Netherfield at some later time. “And once the arrangements are made, I shall make sure that the first invitation goes to Longbourn.” 

Kitty and Lydia were so profuse in their gratitude that Elizabeth took the opportunity to end the visit before they goaded each other into exposing themselves further.

Mr. Bingley walked with them out to the drive, thanking Mrs. Bennet for her call, then drew Elizabeth aside to ask if he would see them at Mrs. Long’s dinner on Wednesday evening. He beamed at her assent.

“I will see you in two days time, then, and hope we may have an opportunity to speak.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley did have opportunities to converse, though only in half-hour increments spread across various dinner engagements. Elizabeth found him personable and by no means deficient in understanding, though perhaps too easily persuaded by his friends and relations.

“My sisters are adamant that I purchase an estate,” he confided to her during Sir William Lucas’s assembly party a fortnight later. “But I was recommended Netherfield, and only needed a short look to decide I would take it. I fear that makes me excessively fickle.”

“Not at all,” assured Elizabeth. “Or rather, I believe it suggests that you are more focused on the present than the future.”

“Yes. When I am in town, I cannot fathom ever leaving it. But as soon as I arrive in the country, I am perfectly contented as well.”

“Forgive my impertinence, but it strikes me that the purchase—or not—of an estate is a very serious matter. After all, an estate is permanent; something that will be passed to your children, and their children in turn. I see nothing wrong with trying to better familiarise yourself with an area, before making such a momentous decision.”

“Miss Bennet, you always say the perfect words. I feel I may always rely on your advice.”

“No indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “For then you would be substituting one fallible opinion for another. No: speak with your family, your friends, your man of business, whoever’s word you trust most. But do not feel compelled to make a choice based on a single person’s advice. I may push you one direction, someone else another. What truly matters is what you want, and what you decide.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments, until Sir William arrived to beg Elizabeth grace them with some songs on the piano-forte.

“Pay no heed to my lectures,” said Elizabeth apologetically. “Doubtless you know your own mind!”

“No, you’ve given me much to think on,” he replied. “But I will not keep you from your music.”

Charlotte called on her the next morning, to discuss the assembly party. “Eliza, you were in conversation with Mr. Bingley for some time last night. Whatever were you speaking of?”

“Advice,” said Elizabeth.

Charlotte blinked. “You have certainly made the most of your time in company together. Do you aim to make something of him, then?”

“I am not his father, nor his mother, to direct him so,” retorted Elizabeth. “He is scarce three years older than me. His personality seems fixed, and I have hopes that so will his resolve.”

“Amiability is wonderful, but determination is better,” agreed Charlotte.

* * *

“Three letters,” pouted Lydia one morning, “and none for me.”

“Were you expecting one?” asked Mary.

Lydia grumbled something unintelligible about officers and distributed the mail: to Mr. Bennet, a letter postmarked from Kent; to Mrs. Bennet, a thick London letter; and for Elizabeth, a folded note.

“It is a letter from dear Jane!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, cracking the seal and unfolding it. “She is well—Mr. Ellis is well—ditto my brother’s family—oh! She begs leave to come visit; Mr. Ellis has business up north, Longbourn along the route, arriving the 13th and does not expect Mr. Ellis to conclude his business till the beginning of next month, perhaps will stay through Christmas as well but early December at the very least.”

“That places me in a conundrum,” said Mr. Bennet, putting down his own letter. “For I have received word from my cousin, Mr. Collins, that he means to heal the breach between our two families with a visit of a week’s duration. He arrives the 18th November.”

“Odious man!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Is it not enough that he is to have Longbourn when you are gone, and will throw us out on the street like as not?”

“It seems he comes with olive branch in tow. He writes that he is concerned at being the means of injuring our amiable daughters, and begs leave to apologise and make them every possible amends.” 

“That is a fine sentiment,” allowed Mrs. Bennet. “But must he also ruin a visit from my sweet Jane? For where are we to lodge them both? The guest chamber—”

“Jane may room with me again,” suggested Elizabeth. “I shall not mind.”

“There you go, my dear. Jane will be with Lizzy, and once Mr. Collins departs you may move her where you like,” said Mr. Bennet. “Lizzy, pray share the contents of your note. Does it foretell another houseguest to vex your mother’s plans?”

“It is from Miss Bingley. She invites me to Netherfield, as the gentlemen intend to dine in town with the officers.”

“Then you must go!” interjected her mother. “It is very kind of Miss Bingley to write you. She obviously approves of the acquaintance—as she should!”

“May I have the carriage?”

“No,” said Mrs. Bennet, peering out the window. “You must go on horseback, for it looks like rain, and then you will be forced to spend the night.”

“But mamma, you know I cannot ride.”

“And whose fault is that?” retorted Mrs. Bennet. “For if you will not put in the effort, heaven knows how you expect to—”

“I will walk,” declared Elizabeth.

This placed Mrs. Bennet in a quandary, for she had said nay to the carriage, yet to allow Lizzy to walk—all the way to Netherfield!—was quite another matter.

“The weather—” she began hesitantly.

“I’ll bring an umbrella.”

“Why, it must be five miles or more!”

“It is only three.”

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly willing to send her daughter on horseback into inclement weather, but she was still cognizant of the proprieties. It would not do to have Lizzy arrive on Netherfield’s doorstep, tired and sweaty, or worse—wet and dirty. She dithered for a few moments.

“It is too far to walk,” she finally decided. “I will order the carriage for you.”

Elizabeth was grateful for the carriage, for the downpour began long before she reached Netherfield. She conversed civilly with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, dined with them, and then promptly returned home.

“If only you had gone on horseback,” grumbled Mrs. Bennet that evening, “you would have had many more hours in their company. I think a little drenching would have been well worth it.”

“And if I caught a putrid sore throat?” asked Elizabeth.

“Then you could have stretched your visit to a week—for I am sure that Mr. Bingley would have called Mr. Jones, and would not have sent you home till you were completely recovered.”

“Thank you, I shall happily substitute a longer sojourn at Netherfield for my continued good health.”

“If you ever mean to attach him—” her mother muttered ominously, but Elizabeth paid her no heed and retired to bed.

* * *

On Thursday the 13th, Elizabeth spent all afternoon in the window seat that overlooked the drive, so she was the first to run out when the coach arrived.

“My dear Lizzy!” cried Jane, hopping down from the carriage to embrace her. “How I have missed you all! Letters are not sufficient—you must tell me all the news.”

“I shall overload you with news forthwith. Hello, Tom,” said Elizabeth, turning with an outstretched hand to Mr. Ellis. “Will you come in?”

He glanced at the house. “I hoped to make Luton by nightfall.”

“And if our mother traps you in conversation, you’ll be delayed by an hour or more.” At his abashed look, Elizabeth laughed. “Have no fear! I will make your excuses for you. I believe I can hold her off for five minutes.”

“Thank you, Lizzy,” said Jane demurely.

Elizabeth left them to their farewells, and walked slowly back to the house. She looked into the library and found her father engrossed in a book.

“Jane has arrived.”

He acknowledged her news with a nod and returned to his book.

She continued unhurriedly down the hall until she finally reached the sitting room. Her mother was reclined on the settee, and she cleared her throat to draw her attention. Mrs. Bennet sat bolt upright and began to fuss, though her irritation quickly turned to rapture once she understood Elizabeth’s news.

“Jane is here? Why did you not fetch me sooner?” she cried, bustling into the hall and rushing outside. Jane stood in the drive, directing the footman with her luggage, and the carriage was turning onto the lane.

“Has Mr. Ellis left already?” demanded Mrs. Bennet. “I expressly desired to speak with him!”

“He could not risk delaying his journey,” answered Elizabeth, with a wink at her sister.

“Well then. Jane, you must tell me everything from town,” said her mother, changing direction and leading Jane inside. “How is my brother? How was your journey?”

Jane was cornered and interrogated by each of the Bennets in turn, so it was not until they turned in for bed that Elizabeth was able to speak with her in private.

“I have heard much of the new residents at Netherfield Park,” said Jane. “Do you see them often?”

“At nearly every entertainment,” confirmed Elizabeth. “We have met at any number of dinner parties, and at two assembly dances. Mr. Bingley has paid me much attention.”

“Do you wish him to do so?”

“He is very agreeable and kind. I look forward to our conversations.”

Jane looked at her closely. “But—”

“But I fear that the rest of his party is decidedly unimpressed with the rest of the Bennets. I know mamma can be an incorrigible gadfly, and Mary a prosy bore, and Kitty and Lydia excessively silly girls, but they judge themselves so far above us. Have you heard of them?”

“What are their names?”

Elizabeth imparted all she knew. Jane thought for a moment, then shook her head. “They must move in entirely different circles than I am accustomed to. After all, I am only a tradesman’s wife.”

“Only a tradesman’s wife!” said Elizabeth hotly. “Why, you’re a hundred times more beautiful and generous than the lot of them.”

“Ever my champion,” smiled Jane. “But surely they do not all mean to make a prolonged visit. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst must have a house of their own in London, and Mr. Darcy has his estate in Derbyshire. That leaves the younger sister at Netherfield, Miss Bingley. I’m certain you could arrive on good terms with her.”

“I can handle her. I am nothing but civil. I merely detest when we are made to feel lesser, as though I am not also the daughter of a gentleman.”

“I’m sure Mr. Bingley thinks highly enough of you to make up for all our defects,” said Jane, as Elizabeth urged her to go to sleep.

* * *

Elizabeth had four full days with Jane before the arrival of Mr. Collins, which felt like far too short a time with her favourite sister. They attended a dinner at Lucas Lodge on Saturday, where Elizabeth was eager to introduce her sister to Mr. Bingley.

“You live in London, Mrs. Ellis?”

“Yes, for two years now come April. I miss my family at times, but I love all the activity. Whenever Lizzy visits, we go to the theatre.”

“Are you fond of plays?” he asked eagerly, turning back to Elizabeth. “Had you a chance to see any of the productions at Drury Lane before it burned?”

Elizabeth and Jane talked with him of Sheridan and Kemble for the next quarter hour, and Elizabeth was delighted to have at least one Bennet she could be proud of, one who was lovely and knowledgeable and kind. Not even overhearing Miss Bingley’s cruel jab about “Cheapside relations” could puncture her happy mood.

“Have you noticed,” said Charlotte, pulling her aside before she left, “that Mr. Darcy is avoiding you?”

“I don’t believe I’ve spoken above five words to the man.”

“I suspect it’s entirely intentional. He always happens to be on the opposite side of the room from you. And he has somehow managed to never be seated near you at supper.”

“How very odd,” mused Elizabeth. “I asked Mr. Bingley to speak with him at the first Meryton assembly, to see if he would dance. Perhaps he has taken a dislike to me.”

“Or perhaps he is also captivated by your beauty, and is trying to be elsewhere out of courtesy to his friend.”

“Charlotte!”

“I think my theory is excessively romantic.”

“We do not live in a sentimental novel!” laughed Elizabeth. “You have let your imagination run wild, and arrived at the least probable conclusion. Though I do admit that it would make an excellent story.”

“I should write it,” said Charlotte. “For I would much rather be a lady novelist than a spinster.”

* * *

Mr. Collins arrived at four o’clock on the 18th, and proved to be a very formal, serious young man. He spoke nearly as much as the ladies, and talked with little cessation of his living at Huntsford and his hope of atoning for the odd settlement of the Longbourn estate. From the way he studied and assessed his cousins, Elizabeth suspected that he had settled upon marriage as the most proper and efficient way of making amends, and she bit her lip to contain herself.

He had looked remarkably crestfallen at being introduced to Jane as “Mrs. Ellis,” and quickly focused most of his gallantries on Elizabeth. She stared at her mother in some alarm. Mrs. Bennet took stock of the situation in an instant, and dragged Mr. Collins into the hall.

“Soon expect—neighbouring estate—much attention—” filtered back to them. Kitty and Lydia began to titter uncontrollably. “Next eldest—very studious—religious reading.”

Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins reentered the room. “Mary!” called her mother. “Come, play some songs for us on the piano-forte. She is quite accomplished musically!” she relayed to Mr. Collins with a fixed smile.

“Apparently mamma has deemed Mr. Bingley a surer bet than Mr. Collins,” whispered Elizabeth unsteadily. “Poor Mary!”

“Come now, we’ve only just met him,” said Jane reprovingly. “Perhaps he will not seem so silly on closer acquaintance.”

“He would have picked you first.”

“Thank goodness I am wed, then.”

* * *

Mr Collins spent the following morning haunting the library, ostensibly perusing Mr. Bennet’s collection but in actuality droning on interminably about his prospects, and the Huntsford parsonage, and the inestimable qualities of his patroness. By mid-afternoon Mr. Bennet longed for solitude again, and sought out Elizabeth.

“My dear Lizzy,” said he, “do your younger sisters still intend to walk into town?”

“Lydia and Kitty wish to call on our aunt, and doubtless seek out any officers as well.”

“You all must go,” urged Mr. Bennet. “Take Mary and our cousin as well, if you please.”

Mary complained that they were needlessly tearing her away from her studies, but in the end they all set out for Meryton as a party of six.

In town they encountered Mr. Denny, newly returned to the militia from London, and a friend of his that wished to join up, a Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth found Mr. Wickham a pleasant young man at first impression—so much so that he was quickly monopolised in conversation by Kitty and Lydia. Jane was asking Mr. Denny what he thought of Meryton, when Elizabeth heard the sound of hooves and turned to see Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy approaching on horseback.

“Miss Bennet!” cried Mr. Bingley, drawing closer and jumping down to dismount. “We were bound for Longbourn, to call on you all.”

“Our cousin is visiting from Kent,” said Elizabeth, nodding to where Mary and Mr. Collins stood conversing—though it appeared to be less an equal conversation, and more an opportunity for each to monolog at each other in turn. “We are eventually headed for my aunt Phillips’s house.”

“Are you attending her card party tomorrow night?”

Elizabeth was about to reply when a soft exclamation from Jane made her shift her attention away. Rather than staying on his horse and regarding them all with his customary aloofness, Mr. Darcy had dismounted and drawn Mr. Wickham aside out of earshot. The conversation appeared contentious.

“I did not know that Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy were acquainted,” observed Jane.

“Do you know Mr. Wickham?” asked Elizabeth, turning back to Mr. Bingley.

“I have never seen him before this afternoon. But for some reason, the name is familiar.”

They watched perplexed for some moments, till Kitty and Lydia grew impatient and protested that they should continue on towards the Phillips’s—but not before quizzing Mr. Bingley some more on the Netherfield ball.

“You mustn’t forget your promise,” pleaded Lydia. “For you said you would throw a ball ages ago!”

“I have not forgotten; it will happen very soon, I assure you. I shall see you Wednesday night,” said Mr. Bingley.

The following evening, Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth found seats at a lottery table with Kitty and Lydia, and the two younger girls became so engrossed in the game that the other two were able to hold a private conversation.

“According to Lydia, Mr. Denny said that Mr. Wickham has decided against the militia and returned to London,” repeated Elizabeth.

“Darcy would not say much, only that Wickham has behaved in an ungentlemanly manner towards his family.”

“What could that mean?”

“I believe that Wickham is the son of old Mr. Darcy’s steward, and was promised a clerical holding. He has chosen other careers instead of the church, and each time wheedles Darcy into paying his way.”

“But Mr. Darcy seemed so angry yesterday, beyond what I would expect from a connection who continually sponges off others.”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Bingley. “But his affairs are his own, and I trust his judgement. If he deemed Wickham an unwelcome addition to Meryton society, he doubtless had a very good reason for it.”

“Indeed,” said Elizabeth. “All I can say is that Mr. Wickham seemed very good-natured at first glance.”

* * *

Mr. Bingley and his sisters arrived the next morning to personally invite the Bennets to a ball at Netherfield Park the following Tuesday. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were pleased to find their friend Elizabeth in excellent health, were sorry for the long delay but wished to make all the proper arrangements for an entertainment of this magnitude, very much looked forward to seeing her there, then stood to leave with such alacrity that their brother was taken off guard.

“A ball at Netherfield!” cried Mrs. Bennet, once Mr. Bingley had made his farewells and followed them out. “And to call on us in person! This bodes very well for you, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth tried in vain to temper her mother’s expectations, but Mrs. Bennet was lost in daydreams of her dear Lizzy as mistress of Netherfield and Mary settled at Huntsford. “Two more married, and only Kitty and Lydia left,” she muttered to herself.

The weather turned ill for the next five days, so with nowhere to go and no errands to run the excitement soon reached feverish levels in the Bennet household.

“I am so worried that someone will expose themselves to public ridicule at the ball that I fear I am beginning to dread it,” confessed Elizabeth.

“I will talk to papa,” said Jane.

“As though he has ever restrained Kitty and Lydia, or mamma! No, we must hope that everyone will be on their best behaviour.”

“Even Mr. Collins?”

“Especially Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth darkly. “He was to leave on Monday, and has already extended his stay.”

“Everything will be fine,” assured Jane.

However, the evening of the ball adhered closer to Elizabeth’s prediction, for the Bennets proved remarkably indecorous that evening. Elizabeth danced the first set with Mr. Bingley, and as she moved down the line she heard Lydia loudly proclaim to one of the officers that the mere existence of the ball was due to her influence.

“For Kitty and I begged him to throw one, so all the credit should go to us! Was it not a grand idea of ours?”

She composed her features as best she could, and waited until the dance brought Mr. Bingley and she together again.

“I have not thanked you enough for the very kind gesture of throwing the ball,” she said quietly. “It is lovely. The arrangements must have taken up much of your valuable time. I pray you did not feel forced into it by my sisters’ demands.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Indeed, I wished to convey to the neighbourhood how grateful I was to be immediately enveloped in your social life. And I’m afraid I left most of the arrangements to my sisters and my staff, so they deserve all the thanks. I am very glad you like it.”

Elizabeth nodded, and they separated again. She watched as Kitty ran shrieking through the drawing room rather more like a child of seven than a young lady of seventeen. She tried not to wince.

“Thank you for inviting our cousin as well,” said Elizabeth once he rejoined her.

“I did not wish to exclude any of your family,” he said simply.

She nodded again, her throat tight. She kept to polite comments on the weather and the decorations for the rest of the dance, and danced the next two sets with Colonel Forster and Mr. Chamberlayne. She returned to Jane’s side after the third set.

“Could you attempt to have a word with Kitty and Lydia?” she murmured to Jane. “They are already quite boisterous, and there are still hours to go.”

“I will try,” said Jane. “But I am more worried about mamma.”

“Good heavens,” groaned Elizabeth. She scanned the room, and found her mother holding court in a corner with Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Her listeners had glazed expressions on their faces, which led Elizabeth to assume Mrs. Bennet had been expostulating for some time. She edged closer.

“Only three miles away, so I may visit whenever I like. What a triumph for my Lizzy! For as soon as I heard a gentleman had taken Netherfield Park, I knew I must nab him for one of my girls. And of course he was captivated with her from the start—for though my Jane is the most beautiful, Lizzy is still pretty enough!”

“Mamma!” hissed Elizabeth. “You must lower your voice.” She had spotted Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley standing nearby, and feared they were within earshot.

“Why?” said Mrs. Bennet in the same loud tone. “Do I not speak the truth? Mark my words,” she said, turning back to her captive audience, “we’ll have a wedding by springtime. Or sooner!”

Elizabeth shook her head and returned to Jane. After supper, Charlotte joined them.

“What a lovely ball,” said Jane. “Do you not agree?”

“Yes indeed,” said Charlotte. “Eliza, I wondered if you might care to walk with me towards the piano-forte? And you too, Jane, of course.”

Elizabeth studied her closely, but Charlotte’s face was placid and gave nothing away. “We would love to take a turn with you,” she answered, taking Charlotte’s arm.

Charlotte said nothing until they had left most of the crowd behind. “Your sister and Mr. Collins—well, you shall see.”

Someone had mentioned music, and Mary had leapt at the chance to display her skills before the company. She played song after song, encouraged by the riotous applause Mr. Collins gave at the conclusion of each piece. Her weak voice was growing tired, and Mr. Collins was currently holding forth on the virtues of music.

“I myself am not musically inclined, but I am certain that such mastery of technique would be useful for and compatible with the career of such a simple rector as myself. Which is not to say that a clergyman has no other responsibilities to attend to. As my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has often told me—”

“Jane, could you fetch papa?” asked Elizabeth.

“I will be subtle yet quick,” Jane assured her.

“I am not certain how long they have been here, but I summoned you as soon as I noticed,” said Charlotte.

“I am only sorry that the Bennets cannot be in public half the night without embarrassing themselves.”

“No one will think the less of you for the behaviour, however ill-advised, of your family.”

“You are too biased in my favour, for I rather fear it will,” said Elizabeth, indicating where the Hursts sat with looks of deepest disdain on their faces. “Still, at least we are providing remarkable fodder for your novel.”

“Truth is always stranger than fiction,” agreed Charlotte.

Jane returned with Mr. Bennet, who strode forward and interrupted Mary before she could continue on to another piece.

“Come, my dear, I’m afraid you have entertained us long enough. You must give some other young lady a chance at the piano-forte. Mr. Collins will escort you to the dance; another set is to begin. I believe clergymen are not opposed to dancing.”

“No indeed,” said Mr Collins, “doctrinally there is precedent in—”

“You must not miss the start of the dance,” urged Mr. Bennet, chevying them back towards the dancers.

“That could have been accomplished more tactfully,” Elizabeth told her father reproachfully.

“You know your sisters, Lizzy; they all aspire to make spectacles of themselves in some fashion. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth with a grim smile.

She headed back to the dancing and tried to put her family’s follies from her mind. She danced with several of the officers, with Mr. Collins—an awkward and lumbering set—and with Mr. Bingley again.

“How do you judge the success of your ball?” asked Elizabeth.

“Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time, which is all I can ask for. It has certainly not put me off from throwing another.”

“I should hope not.”

“You have seemed out of sorts tonight,” observed Mr. Bingley.

“My family—I felt obligated to police their behaviour, and I fear it did none of us good.” She nodded at Lydia, twirling with Mr. Denny and raucously laughing. “It seems that every Bennet has been overly exuberant in some way or another.”

“Your younger sisters are excited and unused to polite company,” he said.

“They will still be judged for it: by your sisters, your friend, and by others in attendance tonight.”

“It was not too long ago that Louisa and Caroline were young girls who swooned over handsome officers. How easily they forget. Those who know you will not regard you any less because your sisters are silly.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But—oh dear. It appears that Mr. Collins has cornered Mr. Darcy. Should I—”

“Darcy can take care of himself. I wonder if your cousin has discovered that Darcy is the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Truly? You cannot be—oh, poor man.”

Mr. Darcy’s face grew increasingly stiff as Mr. Collins droned on, until without a word, he abruptly bowed and walked off.

“I feel sorry for them both,” decided Elizabeth as they left the dance floor. “No one deserves such an obsequious address, but neither does one deserve a brusque dismissal.”

“Which would you have saved from the other?”

“What a dilemma: for I cannot rescue them simultaneously, as I would wish.”

They found a seat along the wall and watched the dancers form up for the next set.

“Mr. Darcy is dancing with Charlotte Lucas,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes, he did not limit himself to my sisters this time. I saw him dancing with Mrs. Ellis earlier.”

“Such improvement! We may never be on overly friendly terms, but I am glad that he is not quite the arrogant man he first appeared.”

“He has never spoken ill of you,” said Mr. Bingley.

“Because you are his friend.”

“Oh.” He shifted in his seat. “Your mother was most insistent I attend a family dinner at Longbourn at the end of this week, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I’m obliged to leave tomorrow for London.”

“I see,” said Elizabeth, feeling strangely subdued. “For how long?”

“At least a week. Instead of declining, what say I merely postpone your mother’s kind offer? I will call on you once I return.”

“Thank you, I will relay that to mamma.”

“Important business,” he explained, shrugging helplessly. “I cannot put it off.”

“No. Of course not,” she replied.

* * *

The Bennets had been so tardy in leaving Netherfield the previous evening that Elizabeth was not entirely surprised to find half the family still abed by breakfast time. Kitty wandered in ten minutes late, and Lydia appeared, yawning, five minutes after that.

“Strange that mamma has not come down,” said Jane, puzzled. “I should have thought she’d be the first one up.”

“She managed to linger nearly a quarter of an hour after the last guest departed,” said Elizabeth. “It could not have taken half that long to have the carriage brought round. Perhaps her exertions have exhausted her.”

“I should still check on her,” said Jane, rising from the table.

Jane had been gone nearly twenty minutes, and Mary and Mr. Collins were preparing to leave, when she reentered the room.

“Mamma is ill,” reported Jane.

“Should we send for the doctor?” asked Mary.

Jane shook her head. “I think it is merely a chill. I’ve had Hill prepare a tisane, and I will sit with her this morning.”

Elizabeth followed her up the stairs and looked in on their mother. Mrs. Bennet had a cough, and was fretting about her head and the light; but as she displayed no other symptoms, Elizabeth was not unduly concerned.

“Don’t let her monopolise your entire day,” advised Elizabeth quietly. “She doubtless needs some rest—solitary rest.”

Jane accordingly came downstairs in the afternoon, and as Mr. Collins and Mary were well-ensconced in the drawing room, Elizabeth and she walked to Lucas Lodge to spend the day with Charlotte.

“How fares your cousin’s courtship?” asked Charlotte.

“It is the oddest thing. When they are not taking it in turns to read Fordyce’s _Sermons_ , they lecture each other. Although perhaps that is not the right word, but it feels much grander and more performative than a tête-à-tête.”

“It is good for Mary to find someone who shares her own interests,” said Jane. “Kitty and Lydia have absolutely no patience with her. I fear, though, that she finds Mr. Collins to be excessively focused on worldly matters.”

“That is perfect,” said Charlotte. “For she may fix all her energies on molding him to a proper level of spirituality, and hopefully he will then stop invoking the name of his patroness at every turn.”

“I’m not sure what to think of Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” confessed Elizabeth. “I cannot reconcile Mr. Darcy’s aunt with someone who would willingly associate with our cousin.”

“Lizzy,” admonished Jane.

“Come, Jane, admit it: you would not seek to be better acquainted with Mr. Collins if he were not already our relative.”

Jane merely smiled, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes at Charlotte. “You see what I must put up with! Jane will pass judgement on no one. Why, yesterday she was finding excuses for the behaviour of the Hursts.”

“You form your opinions too readily,” said Jane.

“If I am hasty in making judgements, at least I am often correct. I liked Mr. Bingley from the start, despite the standoffishness of the rest of his party.”

“There would be something amiss with you, if you did not find Mr. Bingley amiable,” said Charlotte. “When does he return?”

“Not till next week, I believe.”

Charlotte and Jane exchanged a look, and Elizabeth rose, laughing. “You both attach too much significance to our conversations! And now we must head back. Mamma may have finally arisen.”

Mrs. Bennet did not leave her room at all on Wednesday or Thursday, and by Friday she had worsened considerably. Her cough was now painful and persistent, and she became feverish. Mr. Jones was sent for, and stayed to confer with Mr. Bennet for a few minutes afterwards.

“Well, girls,” said Mr. Bennet, coming into the sitting room. “It appears your mamma has developed pleurisy, but Mr. Jones believes it is not grave. He has left some powders, and says she must have quiet. So no noise, no visitors, and no excitement.”

“We shall go to aunt Phillips, then, if we are not wanted at home,” pouted Lydia.

“As you wish,” said Mr. Bennet. He made to return to the library.

“A clergyman has many demands upon his time,” began Mr. Collins, “but I believe the visitation of the sick to be one of our highest callings. Might I pray with Mrs. Bennet during her time of misfortune?”

“Very kind of you, cousin, very kind. But I would not risk exposing you to the contagion.”

“Then Cousin Mary and I will pray for her in the drawing room,” decided Mr. Collins.

Jane and Elizabeth followed their father into the library.

“It is not serious?” asked Jane.

“Not serious,” confirmed Mr. Bennet. “Peace and quiet, that’s what she needs.”

“Are you sure that’s not your own prescription?” teased Elizabeth.

“I would not mind it.”

“Papa, Mr. Collins—”

“Hmm?”

“He was meant to leave tomorrow, on Saturday,” explained Elizabeth. “I thought the main purpose of his visit to be marriage, yet he seems to be making no efforts to conclude his courtship with Mary.”

“Needs your mother to arrange things, I suspect.”

“Could you have a word with him?” she pressed.

“No need to rush matters.”

“Only Mr. Ellis thought his business would be concluded by now, and I am awaiting word that he is headed back to Longbourn,” said Jane. “And with Mr. Collins in the guest room—”

“He will have left for Kent by then, never fear.”

Jane looked at Elizabeth, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Let us hope mamma recovers quickly, then.”

* * *

Mr. Collins extended his stay a third week. Kitty and Lydia were constantly out, calling on officers, so it fell to Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary to staff the sickroom. Mary refused to read novels to the invalid, and was soon banished back to the drawing room and Mr. Collins's sermons while Jane and Elizabeth bore the brunt of the work.

Mrs. Bennet burned with fever, struggled to breathe over her hacking, painful coughs, and was so unlike her normal self that she made for a remarkably compliant patient. But by Wednesday, Mrs. Bennet was full of demands again. She wished the drapes drawn, then opened again; she would beg for a fire, then plead discomfort from the heat until it was extinguished; she was always asking for this specific tisane, or that particular medicine, and the items constantly changed.

“I think she has improved,” Elizabeth whispered to Jane, as she peered in to find their mother asleep. “For she was not half so exacting when she was still feverish. Come,” she said, gesturing to the hallway. “I think you may leave her for a moment. The mail has arrived.”

They went into Elizabeth’s bedroom, and she handed Jane a letter.

“It is from Tom, as you guessed,” said Jane, breaking the seal. “His business has concluded, and he expects to be here by Saturday the 7th.”

“Three days,” smiled Elizabeth. “You must be ecstatic.”

Jane looked at her oddly. “Did you receive something?”

“A note from Miss Bingley, in response to the letter I sent postponing our dinner invitation due to mamma’s illness,” she said, pulling a sheet from her pocket. “She is sorry to hear of our mother’s poor health, and the rest of the party have decided to follow Mr. Bingley to London. She does not expect them to return for at least six months. ‘If ever’ appears to be the unstated truth.”

“Oh Lizzy. She must be misinformed.”

“It has been a week, and he has not returned; and now everyone else has followed suit. I knew they did not approve.”

“You are tired from tending mamma, or you would not dwell on such gloomy thoughts,” reproached Jane.

“Perhaps you are right,” admitted Elizabeth. “Perhaps Miss Bingley will send another letter, explaining the delay. But come: we must do something about Mr. Collins, for we need a room for Tom when he arrives. We cannot put him in the nursery, and that is the only empty space at present.”

“I will speak to mamma, if you will locate Mr. Collins.”

“Where else would he be but the drawing room? Surely they have covered Fordyce’s _Sermons_ front to back by now.”

“It is two volumes,” said Jane, slipping into the hall.

Elizabeth headed downstairs and spent twenty minutes in the drawing room, talking about the weather in Hertfordshire, and the weather in Kent, and the similarities and differences between the two, before Mrs. Bennet appeared.

Her cheeks were flushed and her hair simply dressed, but otherwise she looked entirely unlike a woman who only half an hour before had been prostate on her sick bed.

“Yes, yes, I am quite recovered,” she said, interrupting Mr. Collins's flood of platitudes and well wishes. “Mr. Collins, would you care to join me in the sitting room? I wish to speak with you.”

She ushered him out into the hall, passing Jane in the doorway.

“I am glad mamma is feeling better,” said Mary calmly, returning to her book.

“Jane is the miracle-worker,” said Elizabeth, as Jane seated herself by the window next to Mary. “I have never known her to dress so quickly.”

“She merely needed a little encouragement to leave the sickbed behind,” said Jane. She turned to Mary. “What are you reading? May I see?”

Jane and Mary were soon busy in discussing Mrs. Chapone’s conduct book, and so Elizabeth was the only one to notice the reentry of their mother. Mrs. Bennet beckoned to her imperiously.

“Come, Lizzy, I want you upstairs—Jane too. Mr. Collins desires a private audience with Mary.”

Elizabeth and Jane obligingly left the room, to find their mother had skirted the stairs and instead turned into the sitting room. Mrs. Bennet sank onto the settee.

“I told him that he had my express permission to make Mary an offer, and hinted that she had been waiting in expectation of one since the week of the Netherfield ball. I pray I won’t have to provide any further encouragement, though, for I am already quite fagged.”

They were eventually joined by Kitty and Lydia, newly returned from town, who made much fuss over seeing their mother recovered and ambulatory again. They chatted for some time of the news from the militia, then looked around the room.

“Where is Mary?” asked Kitty.

“Lord, don’t tell me: Mr. Collins has finally collected himself and decided on matrimony!” snickered Lydia.

“At least your sister will be settled,” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “Which is more than I can say for the two of you.”

Their bickering was fortunately interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Collins, who announced that Cousin Mary had endeavoured to make him the happiest of men and that he greatly anticipated their nearer connection, to which Mrs. Bennet must name the date.

“Yes, yes, much congratulations,” agreed Mrs. Bennet. “But when do you return to Kent?”

* * *

Mrs. Bennet had Mr. Collins packed and en route to Huntsford by the following day; and though she had listened with forbearance to Mr. Collins’s expressed gratitude at being the means of uniting their two families and to his fervent promises to return in three weeks’ time, Elizabeth could tell that her mother’s focus had already moved on to other matters.

She supervised the tidying of the guest chamber and promptly transferred Jane there. She consulted with Hill, to ensure that they could prepare all of Mr. Ellis’s favourite dishes. Then she turned her attention to her second eldest daughter.

“And where is Mr. Bingley?” she demanded. “Did he not say he would return within a week?”

Elizabeth murmured something vague about extenuating circumstances, and Mrs. Bennet moved on to Mary.

“It is only right that you are to be the mistress of Longbourn after me—it will not pass out of our hands now. Find your father, my dear, and tell him we must see the vicar without delay. He must call the banns this Sunday! And then next week, we must go to town for your trousseau. We will stay with my brother. Some of your sisters may care to accompany us.”

Kitty and Lydia dreaded the thought of being forced to watch the assemblage of Mary’s bridal finery, and Elizabeth felt reluctant to jaunt off to London so soon after Mr. Bingley’s departure.

“You might encounter him in town,” advised Jane.

“Yes,” conceded Elizabeth, “but I don’t care to look as though I’m chasing after him. Besides, I’d rather not traipse up and down London with Mary and mamma on an endless shopping trip.”

And so when Mrs. Bennet and the bride-to-be left for London, most of the Bennets remained home. Mr. Ellis had arrived four days earlier, and Jane and he spent each day visiting friends and relations around Meryton. Elizabeth had accompanied them every day through Wednesday, but on Thursday she begged off.

“Pray go without me,” she told Jane. “I feel I would make for poor company.”

“Have you heard any further news from the Netherfield party?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Sit in the garden,” suggested Jane. “Or take a walk. The fresh air will do you good.”

“I think I might,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh! Jane, Tom, pray give Kitty and me a ride into town,” pressed Lydia. “For Captain Carter was due back last night, and we must hear the news from him.”

Elizabeth waved the four of them off, then headed back inside to grab her pelisse and her book.

“Everyone has gone,” she said, peering into Mr. Bennet’s library. “You may safely emerge.”

“You are also headed out,” observed Mr. Bennet, glancing up from his desk. “Are you set on a solitary ramble?”

“Miss Bingley deplored walks; she called them a country diversion,” mused Elizabeth. “Perhaps. But I will try reading first.”

She sat on the garden bench, and though she tried to focus on her book, she found her mind slipping away to other thoughts. Mr. Bingley had now been gone for more than a fortnight, and the rest of his party had followed less than a week after his own departure. She did not reprove him for the lack of news; it would have been difficult for him to send a letter without giving rise to significant expectations, particularly on the part of Mrs. Bennet. However, it was growing harder to sit and wait patiently for his return when his sisters and Mr. Darcy were, to all appearances, vehemently opposed to it.

She knew her family had behaved atrociously at the ball. Her sisters, her cousin, even her parents had made themselves the centre of attention and the object of ridicule at various points throughout the evening. But how was that any different from the Netherfield party’s behaviour at other entertainments, when they sneered at their country neighbours and blatantly disdained their dinner parties and dances as demonstrably inferior?

She had thought that Mr. Bingley and she were friends, at the very least. Charlotte often teased her about romance, and Elizabeth had to admit that she was not opposed to the idea of a deeper relationship. She would not stoop to nabbing him, as her mother would have said, but she thought it obvious that she enjoyed his company and always looked forward to seeing him again. She had never been reticent in her likes.

As if her thoughts had conjured him forth, she looked up from her book to find Mr. Bingley on the other side of the garden gate. She gave a jolt of surprise.

“Hello,” he called.

“I did not know you were back,” blurted Elizabeth.

“Last night. I saw your note this morning, about your mother—”

“She is infinitely improved,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry, you were away, I did not think to send an update—”

“You had other matters on your mind,” he said, opening the gate and coming to stand before her. “I would have called this morning regardless.”

“How kind.”

He shifted awkwardly. “I passed a carriage in the lane.”

“Oh, yes: my brother-in-law has returned from the north, and Mrs. Ellis and he have gone visiting. They took my youngest sisters with them.”

“The house seems very quiet.”

“My mother and Mary are in London,” she explained. “She is engaged to our cousin, Mr. Collins. The wedding is set for the beginning of January.”

“That is excellent!” he said. “I must congratulate her once she returns.”

“Yes.”

After a few minutes’ silence, broken only by Mr. Bingley’s fidgets, Elizabeth climbed to her feet and set her book down on the bench.

“Would you care for a walk?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly, “for I mean to explain about my delay in London.”

They headed away from the house, and he seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “I did not mean to be away so long,” he said.

“Miss Bingley wrote me.”

“Then you know that my sisters and Darcy followed me to town.”

“And Mr. Hurst.”

“Yes,” he said drily. “We mustn’t forget him.”

“Your sister wrote that they expected to stay through the winter.”

“Caroline is very decisive, but she was mistaken in thinking she spoke for me, or knew my mind. I meant to deal with my business then return, but she had taken issue with the society here.”

“You needn’t be polite on my account,” said Elizabeth. “I know she disapproved of the Bennets in particular.”

“Caroline and Louisa like to pretend that our family fortune was not made in trade,” he bit out, “and thought your London relations would cheapen the connection.”

“I will never be ashamed that my uncle and brother-in-law are tradesmen,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, they work for a living. It seems to me that a life of work and labour may be just as rewarding as a life of leisure—more, even.”

“Those with great estates are not idle either,” agreed Mr. Bingley. “Their livelihoods depend on the well-being of the farmers and workers under their care. I have never met Mr. Gardiner or Mr. Ellis, but I have met Mrs. Ellis, and I was certainly happy to make her acquaintance.”

He shook his head. “But there were also objections raised about the behaviour of your mother and sisters.”

“They are all excessively silly,” concurred Elizabeth. “But I will not disown them simply because they embarrass me far more often than I would like. They are my family.”

“I said that if we were always to be unfairly judged on account of our relations, I would never have agreed for Louisa to marry Hurst.”

Elizabeth bent over choking. “Surely not!”

“He’s very fashionable, but he’s still a fool,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“Your sisters must be furious at having their advice disregarded. Your friend, too,” she said finally.

“Darcy was fine with my decision. My sisters need to accept that they can’t dictate my life. They’ll come around.”

“So,” said Elizabeth slowly, “do you intend to make a lengthy stay at Netherfield?”

“Long enough to propose to you, if you’re not adverse.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “I am certainly not adverse.”

“Excellent,” he said.

“If that is meant to be the entirety of your proposal, it is shockingly ill-done!”

“I’ll have you know I wrote a very proper speech,” said Mr. Bingley.

“Then where is it?”

He rolled his eyes, and sank to his knees. “Miss Bennet—”

“Elizabeth,” she corrected.

“—Elizabeth. I have greatly enjoyed our conversations together. I would very much like to be able to talk with you for years to come.”

“How remarkably unsentimental,” she critiqued.

“Must I also say that I was completely dumb-stricken when I saw you at that very first dinner at Longbourn? I thought you quite the loveliest creature I had ever seen, and every time I met with you, I discovered more of your virtues. Besides, I have come to depend on your advice.”

“I thought you very handsome and agreeable,” said Elizabeth. “And I fear you have caught me out, for I dearly love to make my opinions known.”

If Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth then headed for a more secluded part of the path, it seems only fair to provide them with the privacy they deserve.

* * *

“Well, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet, after Mr. Bingley had left. “Your mother will be elated to come home and find you have secured him after all.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“You will balance each other out, for while he will be imposed upon by all, you will be ready to put everyone in their place.”

“Indeed not,” she protested. “For despite his amiable demeanour, I have found him quite capable of making up his own mind. I will be happy to advise him, but his decisions shall be his own.”

Her father regarded her affectionately. “If that is true, then I wish you all the best: happiness, respect, and an equal partnership.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was not sure what do with Jane at first, but then I remembered a throwaway line from Mrs. Bennet in Chapter 9:
>
>> "I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."
> 
> So in this canon divergence, I decided that maybe the unnamed gentleman from London did make Jane an offer, a few years later. And the title is from Charlotte's view of marriage in Chapter 6: "Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance."
> 
> Thanks to S, P, and AM for being my poor captive audience during the writing process.


End file.
